We Watermelons piled into Van 2 and headed out of Seattle around noon. We didn’t anticipate starting running until about 6 p.m., and as Runner 11, I likely wouldn’t be on the course until 9. Cue a very leisurely ride to Sandy, OR. Let’s use this time to introduce you to my van-mates.

View from the van on the drive to Oregon.

Runner 7 was the little powerhouse Meghan B. She is from Jersey, she is young (23!), she is confident. Speed honed in youth aside, If her constant smile and can-do attitude is what running competitively in high school and college does for you, then I really hope my daughters continue to run.

Runner 8 was Megan H., also a young’un, also a speedy East-coaster, she writes for Runner’s World and loves the sport. She puts together a lot of the motivational quotes for the RW site, and for good reason–she was very encouraging along the way.

Playing the unfortunate role of Runner 9 was Laura T., a Nuun employee from here in the Atlanta area. She is a rock–a solid runner who attacked all three of her difficult legs and never uttered a word of complaint. She is also so kind and thoughtful–great qualities in a van-mate.

Handing off to me was Runner 10, Lisa M. She is very transparent online so I knew from our Twitter conversations and her blog that she is a genuine, caring person. She also has some knowledge of chronic pain and of injury so for me, she was particularly good to have around as I struggled through the mental and physical strain of doing this race injured.

Runner 11: Yours truly

Our anchor was Devon M., who is just an all-around awesome lady. She is collected and even, and has her head on straight. She is a solid runner, and completely drama-free. Not to mention adorable. I’d like to have a Devon dolly to keep in my pocket just to cheer me up sometimes. 🙂

And let us not forget the fearless Warrior Behind the Wheel: Casey. Nuun CFO and devoted Huskies fan. He drove that 15-passenger van like it was a Miata, and only took out two curbs that we know of.

All the sparkle, none of the drama!

Can I just say how nice it is to have a drama-free van? I’ve been fortunate to have very little van-drama in most of the relays I’ve done, and frankly, I don’t know why anyone would want to create drama. The race hands you enough true, drama–save your energy for that.

About the worst thing that happened along the way was our first trip to Safeway, in which we were denied on our quest to invite Stacy into our van. It’s a relay essential, y’all, and we very nearly did not get them. Luckily all was righted at our next stop and we were pretty much Powered by Stacy for the rest of the relay.

All the Stacy’s

The Nuun bar. All the electrolytes you could desire.

So, here’s the part that tells you how yes, I have a little bit of the sad over being in Van 2. See, Van 2 does not get to go up Mt. Hood. Hence, like half of all Hood-to-Coast-ers, I have no awesome jumping-with-the-mountain-behind-me pics. I get why that is, with traffic going up and down a big ole mountain but if you’ll allow me a moment… *Whine.*

Okay, all done.

We made it to Exchange 6, which was in the parking lot of a Safeway in Sandy. We all got waaaaaay too excited about seeing the Dead Jocks van as we were pulling in. Also, we were cutting it pretty close so we got Meghan all safety-geared up and sent her out on the course to take the slap bracelet baton from Catey.

Look closely and you can see the Dead Jocks van!

Afterward, we gathered everyone who was still there from the Nuun teams together for a picture. Team Lemonade had arrived, all of Watermelon, minus Meghan, was there, and even parts of Nuun’s competitive Team Cherry Limeade were still on site. What I did not realize was that the person who was gathering us for the picture had nothing to do with the teams… except that he is a race director wants a certain member of Team Lemonade to help him promote his race in Oregon. And so, after he’d taken the picture he loudly exulted “Yeah! It’s HOLLY ROBERTS TEAM!!!” and got on the phone to… tell someone he’d been successful in finding her? Who knows, but it was funny. Holly told us what was going on and we giggled and giggled. Since she was so mortified, and since I am just that mean, I pretty much took immediately decided that the #teamhollyroberts needed to became a thing. And so a joke was born. Holly, it was an honor to be on Team Holly Roberts. May it happen again. 🙂

Team Holly Roberts.

Soon after we needed to get on the road to make the next exchange. The two Meg(h)ans are speedy and were on fresh legs. The slap bracelet went from Meghan to Megan to Laura to Lisa and soon I was up. We were pushing it coming into Exchange 10. Dark was coming on, and we stumbled to the exchange not long before Lisa came in.

Lit up for my night run. How cute is the pink Amphipod flower and vest?!?

I was nervous going into this run. Like, nervous to the point that I’d had to really work hard to enjoy the trip up to this point. I will tell you that getting on the plane to Seattle was pretty much one of the most selfish things I’ve ever done. I flat didn’t know if I’d be able to run. I said that know matter what I’d finish the legs–I was not going to let anyone run for me as I’d had to do during Ragnar Chicago. But I didn’t know what price that would come at: Either what I might injure or re-injure, or how much time I’d cost the team. I’d been in a lot of pain during and after Thursday’s Green Lake run. My IT Band is pretty much well, but other parts of my body have been doing a lot of compensating. But my left glute and hamstring were so tight and they were hurting a lot. The top of my right hip has also been acting up, in the form of sharp pain. This is an injury that I’d struggled with in 2012, but which had disappeared after I switched shoes last fall, had suddenly returned about a week before. That said, I do not advocate using a ton of NSAID’s, especially during running. But for this, I took Advil prior to the run, and it got me through. Kisses for you, Advil.

Leg 11 takes you on a paved trail through parts of Portland; mostly industrial. I’m not a huge fan of paved walking trails, as they tend to attract backpack-carrying Hoodie wearers, which is all well and good but who tend to look creepy after dark. Sorry, backpack-carrying hoodie wearers of the world. But there also were several cyclists out there and a lot of runners so it wasn’t too creepy, even though the area was so very industrial. Looking at the satellite of it now, I’m a) glad I didn’t look at the satellite imagery of the area earlier and b) glad I was running it at night or else I’d have been bored looking at the warehouses. The path was traffic-free except where it crossed streets (and the volunteers were pushing the light-change buttons for us) and great to run on, save one thing: The path went by some sort of Food Truck Extravaganza. And yes, it was 9 p.m. and we hadn’t yet eaten dinner. No, I did not stop. Yes, I wanted to.

This run was the best of the three for me, and that ain’t saying much. Everything hurt but I was so, so happy to be out there, and running, and numbed enough by Advil that I could ignore the pain. I came into the exchange happy to be there, happy to be done, and happy to be sending Devon off to finish up our first legs.

Up next in my Leg Two Recap: Don’t Be Cruel, and A Seat at the Table for my Foam Roller.

It was time to get ready for Ragnar, and I was excited. My sister was on our team this year, and she, my husband and I headed into Chicago to meet up with the team. It was good to see our old team members and to meet the new ones (our team captain Marty had the unfortunate role of putting together not one, but two Ragnar teams. That is a HUGE job.)

Truer words were never scrawled across the side of a van.

Our team mascot: a tortoise on fire.

Heh. Things are not always as they appear…

Trampoline shoes and I be-bopped around that night, decorating the vans and having fun. We drove up to Madison and went to bed at a decent hour. The next morning we got up and headed to the start line. It was, as always, a good time. I had a good long wait in store that day–as Runner 12 I did not expect to start until dusk.

Both teams had the same start time so we sent our runners off and our van, Van 2, headed out to Exchange 6. Where we waited… and waited… and waited. I got to meet Megan from Nuun, who has been organizing all our Hood to Coast shenanigans. We got feedback from Van 1, who were having… well, we will call them Navigational Issues. Finally we were up.

Things went pretty smoothly for our first legs. Tim is our captain from last year and became our de facto captain once we started the race, since Marty was on the other team. He is big into support, and so we made sure to see each runner at least once, and we all walked to every exchange to welcome our runner in and send the next out. Trampolines Shoes were excited to make each of those treks with me. Kiss, kiss, trampoline shoes.

My first leg was 6.7 miles, and I can’t let the story of the shoes interfere with me telling you about how utterly bizarre this run was. It is on a trail through with Wisconsin, which was once a rail line but is not a well-maintained recreational trail. Woodlands surround it, but you are often within sight of or even right next to a road. Trampoline shoes and I set off on the leg. It was flat, the sun was setting, and the weather was perfect.

Within the first 1/2 mile, I saw a man on a bike, who we had seen earlier on the course, and who clearly knew what Ragnar was and what we were doing. And yet, on a bike, he should have been far ahead of us at this point. It made me slightly uncomfortable to see him out there still, but I knew there were enough runners coming behind me that he was probably no threat. Around this time, I passed a still pond and happened to notice, among the vegetation, a dead bird floating in it. Ew.

Things would get creepier still. But first, I got passed by a couple of fast dudes, and I hated to be the roadkill, but I was having a good run so I didn’t really care. Nothing I could do about it. Then the bugs attacked. These tiny little gnat/fly/moth things were every where! And drawn to my headlamp, even though the sun had just set and it was still quite light. They swarmed my face and I had a few as an unintentional snack. I put my head down and ran on, wondering if this would last the rest of the leg (it didn’t).

As I came up on a road crossing at mile 3.5 my van was waiting for me. I saw some people and heard my sister yell, “Is that a mermaid I see?” I laughed and yelled back, feeling good and happy.

Mile 4, there was a water stop manned by cheerful volunteers, and then I came to a more wooded area of the trail. That was when I saw a figure headed toward me. A Male. Who was shuffling–no, limping! I turned off my music and pulled my pepper spray off my waistband. And as I got closer, I could see, he was wearing a hoodie, jeans, and a backpack. This was no recreational walker or Ragnar spectator. And while he had every right to be walking this trail, the guy looked… out of place. I passed by him and picked up the pace. As I did so, I also called my husband and put him on speaker. “Hey, I just saw a creepy guy on the trail; I’m fine but wanted someone on the phone just in case. Just stay on the line with me.” I looked back and did not see the man, but did see what appeared to be a male Ragnarian with a headlamp coming up behind me. I got off the phone with my husband and asked the runner, “Is that guy still going the other way?” He said “Yeah I think so,” and went on. I’m sure as a male, he probably didn’t think twice about seeing that guy on the trail, but I’m pretty protective of my person, so I’m glad I had my phone and my pepper spray and my wits about me. (side note: my other plan during a Ragnar, should something happen, is to turn around and run BACK on the course, because there will always be runners behind you, but you may not be able to catch anyone in front of you, and going forward only puts you further away from safe people. Learned this from Caroline.)

Okay, so are you ready for the next part? About a quarter mile later, I saw something else. From a distance, I could tell only that it was dark and inanimate. As I got closer, I saw, on this tree-lined, beautiful recreational trail that so deftly showcases Wisconsin’s early-summer beauty… a black rolling office chair. With an old computer monitor sitting atop it. And it occurred to me: I am not running a Ragnar. I’m being Punk’d. I’m starring in a David Lynch movie.Something. Because it was all too bizarre. I would’ve stopped to take a picture, but I really just wanted to be back around people at that point.

It was newly dark by the time I got to Exchange 12, and the place was ablaze in headlamps and headlights. I got passed by with about 200 meters to go by two guys who were just flying, and I could not catch them. But I picked up the pace and finished strong, and felt good. I’d just ran my first leg at goal pace and hey, Hoodie Guy hadn’t killed me, so really, what was there to complain about?

I won’t go into all the details of the race from the standpoint of a recap, but there were typical overnight shenanigans: navigating, eating, trying to sleep. Also, a sudden craving for pickles and french fries (which I think calls for a new game: Pregnant, or Ragnarian?), waiting at McDonald’s for coffee at 3AM (new, new game: Out Carouing, or Ragnarian?), and so forth. But overnight, Trampoline Shoes dealt me a blow. Somewhere in that first leg, they’d decided to break up with me. And they wanted to hurt me doing it. As the night wore on, I could feel my right leg get tighter and tighter. “That’s weird,” I thought. I stretched out my leg in the van, tried to get it to loosen up. No dice. It got worse. It felt even worse-worse when I tried to bend it. I had already planned to wear my ASICS for leg 2, and I put them on. I also taped my leg with KT Tape for IT Band, just because it was tight in that area.

The sunrise was prettier than what was to come…

Ah, I was so excited about my second leg. It started on the north side of Racine, Wisconsin, and I was to run along Lake Michigan and into Exchange 24. It was just past sunrise and beside Lake Michigan in a summer sunrise is just one of the prettiest places you can be. I got out at Exchange 23 and got ready to run. My leg was tight. It hurt. Tim remarked that I looked mad (I always look mad if I’m not smiling). I told him I wasn’t mad, but I was worried.

David came into the exchange and I took off. My right leg immediately started barking angrily at me. By .35 miles I had sharp, shooting pain down my right leg. I ran some, walked some, and tried to process what was happening.

Now, I am not fast. Never have been. But I have always, always, been able to go, for forever. I don’t peter out often, and if I do, I can generally take a short break and just keep going. I’m also not a wimp. I’ve delivered two babies–one with a 28 hour labor and one with 7 hours, with no drugs. This leg was 4.7 miles and I could. not. run. it. So when I tell you I was shocked, truly, I was in shock. It came out of nowhere, and in a matter of 8 hours I’d gone from being at one of my strongest, fastest points, to reduced to hobbling.

I made it to .7 miles and I pulled out my phone to call my husband. Before he could even answer, the van happened to turn the corner and pass me. They hit the brakes and tumbled out of the van. “WHAT IS WRONG?” they said, with a mixture of concern and surprise. I looked at them and said, “I can’t run. I can’t run.” “Get in,” they said. And then they mobilized. My husband popped out of the van and said he’d take the next 2 miles. Off he went. My sister took the last two. I got in the van and tried to shove my anger down inside of me, as it would do not good now.

After my heroes finished up the leg, we had time off for food. We went to a breakfast joint in Kenosha, and while we waited on a table, I foam rolled in an empty lot next door. I still wanted to try to run my next leg. Since I was out of commission, I drove the van, too. We came up with a plan for me to try and take Tim’s shorter 6-mile leg and for him to take leg 36, which is 8 miles.

Foam rolling & waiting for breakfast.

We got to exchange 30 and I went to medical for ice. I foam rolled some more. I tried to stretch. I already suspected that Trampoline Shoes were breaking up with me. Like, over text. So cruel, but I kept them on because the ASICS had been even more painful. I made it a mile into my third leg. It didn’t hurt until the mile mark, but it did hurt, and was getting worse. The van was waiting for me, and David was outside. I gave him the thumbs down, and he came over to take yet another set of miles for me. My sister traded off with him halfway through, and so we finished up my doomed set of Ragnar legs. We headed to the finish line, and I took my medal, even though it is still very hard for me to look at it–I don’t feel like I ran a Ragnar.

Iced and taped at Exchange 30. Trampoline shoes mocking me.

Faking happiness at the Finish Line. Really angry on the inside. (that’s race director Meredith Dalberg in the front–she did an amazing job with the race!)

I haven’t run in Trampoline Shoes since. They seem unfazed by our sudden and tragic breakup, and by the pain they have caused me. Best I can tell, they caused me to rely on my ITBand more than I was ready for. And I’m still paying the price. It is extraordinarily frustrating. I wonder if I’d broken them in more slowly, would it have been better? Or would it have accumulated anyway? I also wonder, since I’m no longer running in those shoes, and have bettered my form, why does it still bother me? I know the MO of the ITBand is: once inflamed, it will stay inflamed for quite some time. While I no longer have active or acute pain, and I can run, I just know it’s not 100% better, either (it gets achy after I run).

So, here’s what I’ve done so far this summer, in no particular order: Cross training with the bike and rowing machine. Active Release Therapy and Fascial Distortion. Chiropractic. Rest. Massage. Form work. Ice. Compression. Some running.

Here’s the plan for now:

1. Do the PT exercises I have found everyday, not to ‘strengthen’ the IT Band, but to strengthen all the other muscles I need to be using in order to not rely on the IT Band.

2. Core work every day.

3. Foam rolling twice a day.

4. Upper body weights three times a week.

5. Swimming 4-5x a week starting next week when I can get back in the pool (I had an ingrown toenail removed last week so I’m forbidden to swim until next week. Yes, this is also a source of frustration.)

6. Sleeping in my compression pants.

7. Icing 3-4 times a day. I am taking another complete rest from running, biking, and rowing for at least two more weeks.

8. Staying far, far away from inflammatory foods. I already avoid wheat and dairy and most processed foods. But I have a sweet tooth and intend to limit, if not cut out, sugar entirely.

The plan above allows me to strengthen what is weak so I can rely much less on the ITBand when I do run, while still maintaining my cardio fitness level. My plan is to be able to complete my miles at Hood to Coast without worry. I think the plan above will allow me to do that. I modified my pace goal online so that I don’t have to worry about pushing the pace at the race. And even if painful, I will push through. Afterward, I am prepared to take another complete rest from running if necessary. I’m not going to push through any sort of training right now, though, and risk Hood to Coast. I’m going to show up happy, healthy(er), and, while possibly somewhat undertrained, ready to do my part to run the race and share the Nuun love.

As for Trampoline Shoes? They are in my closet, buried beneath a pile of other shoes that have not caused me nearly so much grief and pain. But I confess, I sometimes catch a glimpse of them, laying there benignly, looking so pretty with their wings on, and I think, “What if?” Deep down, I still love them. I still miss what we had together: speed. lightness. happiness. They were cruel in the end, but for a time, they were…perfection.

Tomorrow I’m off to the Brunch Run to A) Eat bacon and B) Acquire a new PR. My original goal was to break 25 minutes, but I honestly have not put the work in to do that. Of that, I am not proud.

However, sub-26 (a big PR) is certainly within my grasp. Katie has even agreed to pace me through it. Now, I just have to want this PR pretty bad. How bad?

Bad enough to focus.

Bad enough to hurt.

Bad enough to puke.

That’s right. I’m finally coming to terms with the fact that 5k’s are just… always… hard. And in the words of my friend Tim, you really should be hurting within two minutes of starting one. So, I’m readying myself for a goal that is in reach, with a high level of discomfort. I’m not saying puking is definitely in the cards tomorrow. I’m just saying I need to be prepared for the possibility if this is actually a goal I want to achieve, and if, frankly, I want to continue to better my 5k times (which I really, really do).

And so, I present to you my Prepare to Puke Playlist. It’s approximately 26:45 so it should get me well over the finish line, possibly even providing some musical accompaniment for the predicted wretching.

1. Where the Streets Have No Name, U2. There’s no better tune to get you pumped up for the start of a race. It’s epic. EPIC I SAY.

3. Everybody Have Fun Tonight, Wang Cheung. This one makes my feet move, and I think there’s something there in the subtle irony of talking about having fun when I’m already hurting at mile 1.5.

4. Stayin’ Alive, The Bee Gees. By this point I suspect I shall want to lay down and die. This song will be motivation to… you got it… stay alive. Stay in my race.

5. Good Time, Owl City. This one always makes me think of Ragnar, which are the fun races I reward myself with after all the hard work of the rest of the year. It makes me smile and think happy thoughts. I’m hoping it will distract me from the pain.

6. My Body, Young the Giant. I’m late to the party on this song, as I just discovered it a couple of weeks ago. (Shout out to Jenny and Andrea, who introduced me to this song through their NuunHood to Coast videos.) It’s perfect for an end-of-race push–“My body tells me nooooooooo! But! I won’t quit! ‘Cause I want more!!!”

So, that’s my playlist for tomorrow. If you need puke-preparation, feel free to use these songs. Wish me luck. And at least if I puke, there’ll be more room for bacon, right? Right?

I get this question a lot, in various forms: “When will running stop hurting?”

I totally get it. I have very vivid memories of being a new runner, suffering through countless hours of dragging my body slowly down the road and back home again, and thinking, “I hate this.” Very nearly getting out the door before I had to fight the urge to go back home and say “Forget it. Where are the brownies?”

It hurt. Running HURT.

As much as I hate to break it to you, after 4 years of dedicated running, thousands of miles, and truly falling in love with this beast, running still hurts.

But hear me out.

That pain has changed. At first, it was the pain of my overweight, undisciplined body fighting my mental desire to get out and run. But in a matter of weeks, there was less weight to pull against my willpower. More discipline, less fighting. It hurt, but it started to be worth it.

Later, I remember feeling like the front part of me was literally dragging my butt up the hill behind me. That was a unique blend of physical and emotional pain–daggers straight through my prideful heart.

But I also remember the first day I *didn’t* feel like that. It hurt, but there was progress in the pain.

And so I kept going. I remember the first time I realized I was getting faster, truly, markably faster. I was elated. I pushed harder, and so… it hurt. But I wanted it to.

Me, a few minutes after my first half-marathon. I am on the ground because it… you guessed it… hurt. But IT WAS WORTH THE PAIN.

Running is not great because it’s easy. Running is great in part BECAUSE it hurts. And it may surprise you to know that it hurts even the elite athletes. Shalane Flanagan and Kara Goucher have both talked about how much of marathoning is basically a lot of pain management. Those incredibly fast, talented athletes hurt because they are pushing toward a goal, pushing themselves and pushing the other people around them.

Could there be a better kind of pain?

Running hurts, because it’s worth it. When it stops hurting, push yourself harder. Be amazed at you can do when you beat back your mental and physical obstacles. Whether you are seeking a personal record in distance or time, going for the win at a race, or just trying to get your health back, it will hurt. And it will be worth it. Give it time, not to hurt less, but to be worth it.

“I run because it’s so symbolic of life. You have to drive yourself to overcome the obstacles. You might feel that you can’t. But then you find your inner strength, and realize you’re capable of so much more than you thought.” –Arthur Blank

disclaimer: I am not advising anyone to push through an injury. Duh–I want you to be able to keep running. i am talking about the general challenge of running, not a sharp, insistent pain or injury. Listen to your body. It will let you know the difference between discomfort and true injury.

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I was inspired by this post to make a plan for how to deal with the pain that will come with Saturday’s race. I’m a girl who likes a plan. And there will certainly be pain. So, without further adieu: the thinks I will think while I run.

Miles 1-4: “Keep calm and Run On”

This will be the part where I work the hardest at staying relaxed and on pace. I’ll treat it as a warmup. I’m planning to run music-free on this portion, so that I don’t get all Van-Halen-riled-up and run out of steam early. It’s also the part of the race that will take us by the Capitol and along the National Mall. I’d like to take that in, as much as I can while talking myself in. (we’ll be back here again miles 12-15, so I’ll get to experience it twice that day). Calm. Steady. Form, form, form. Here there will be prayers of thanks for the day, the beauty of spring, and the opportunity to do this. Breathe.

Miles 5-8 “Lead Left”

This is where the only sizeable hills in the race are. Luckily they are through Adams Morgan, which is a great neighborhood, from what I remember when I was there to cover the State of the Union in ’05, and from visiting my friend Lynsey there. It’s also the first place I’ll see Kristiana, my wonderful, wonderful friend who is flying all the way from Chicago to support me in doing this. (Insert more prayer because, as the magnet she gave me says, “When I count my blessings, I count you twice!”) She’ll be able to walk from our hotel to between miles five and six. I hope she’s packing something bright so I can spot her! Since hills + bad form are what set off my right side ITB issues a few weeks ago, here I’ll be reminding myself to lead with my left leg, and paying even closer attention to my form. Lead left, lead left. Even effort, not even pace. Turnover, turnover, turnover.

Miles 9-13 “Inspiration. Support.”

Another Kristiana sighting is planned for mile 10. Before and after that I’m going to think about those people in my life who have inspired me and supported me… My sister Lesley, ran her first marathon over a decade ago, and has inspired me and encouraged me. She believes that I can do things I have not even contemplated, and I love her for that–and so much more. Her husband, Clay, who is also a huge supporter and who, if we are running together, always asks “You doing ok?” My friend Cris, who has spend hours talking to me about, first, her 1/2 marathon experiences and then, as we have both upped the ante, her marathon experiences. She’s always been just enough ahead of me in distance to be able to look back and give me great advice. Lisa, my BodyPump instructor, who told me to “enjoy my 26.2 mile victory lap.” Don’t think that doesn’t already have my teared up just thinking about it like that. My entrepreneur friend Drew who is doggedly pursuing a dream and a business that most people would never have had the guts to pursue. Any number of friends who are parenting children with disabilities… the recent spate of people I know who have lost parents and other family members…and those I know who are currently fighting illness. Prayer. Prayer. More prayer.

Miles 14-18 “Haters Gon’ Hate”

I’d be a flat liar if I said I haven’t used running as a way to battle with old demons. And it’s been good for that. But despite being over it, you never really forget the ways in which cruelty and meanness shaped you. I’m grateful for what remains–it’s still great motivation for running. So these miles are for the haters: the girls that verbally bullied me out of an entire school district, the boyfriends (plural) that cheated on me, the girls I thought were my friends who enabled the cheating. Also: anyone who ever called me fat, big boned, or said “but you do have such a pretty face.” The college professor who got mad at me and took it out on my face. Oh, and the girls who physically stood in the way so my college crush and I couldn’t talk to each other, my daughter’s teacher who told me marathons are “for mediocrity,” and for the people who have mis-read my good intentions because their own hearts harbored so much meanness. PRAYER. For me and for them. Amen.

Miles 19-23 “The Journey”

I’ll see Kristiana again, as well as my online friend Lane at mile 18. That will make me happy, and remind me: Anger will only get you so far, and I’d like to leave that behind. For these miles, I want to focus on how I even got here in the first place. I want to think about my first inital weight loss and quest to get healthy just after I got married… and then my running journey which started in 2007 but only caught on for good in 2010. Going from sedentary, to active, to runner, to encourager of other runners has not been slow in coming, and it’s not nothing in the story of my life. I am pretty bad at feeling ‘proud’ of myself, but I’m going to need to dig deep at this point. So here, I will work on recognizing what I’ve been able to accomplish, and thank God for letting me do it.

Mile 24 “Katie”

My training partner will DIE when she reads this, which she probably won’t before the race, so that’s good… but I have to give her proper credit here. Katie is much, much faster and stronger than I am, and yet has never pressured me to go faster on our long runs, and has slowed her own pace way, way down for us to run together. I don’t know of another runner who would have done that. She has made me both a speedier runner and a nicer person, knowing that I’m going to need to do the same for other runners in the future. She has also been incredibly concerned for me when I was sick, and when I am doubtful she kindly, calmly says “You can do it.” We barely knew each other when we started training together, and I feel like I have been gifted with this wonderful, wonderful friend. In the end, I could get a DNF and still be pleased. But that is not the plan, so here, I will think of Katie, who will have long since passed the finish line, possibly having qualified for Boston, and hear her say “You can do it.”

Mile 25: “David”

I could write a book about the support I get from my husband. But that would make him mighty uncomfortable. Let me just say this: he has never once batted an eye at how much of our money goes toward shoes, race registrations, or travel. He has played with and cared for our girls so well while I’ve been gone, and whether I’ve been running my shorter runs during the week or nearly all morning on Saturdays, he always greets me with a genuine smile. If ever he has been exasperated with how much time this has taken, he has never shown it. And if he ever has been frustrated, I know that it is not because he’d rather be out with other friends, or because he doesn’t want to ‘babysit’ the children, but rather because he misses spending time with me. And good grief, what woman wouldn’t want to run home to that every time?

Mile 26: “My Sweethearts”

I am not going to be able to think about my daughters much before this, lest I miss them too much, or feel guilty for being gone. But hey, I’ll be emotional by this point anyway, so might as well buy in. I’ll think about my 4-year-olds sweet pink cheeks, grinning while she asked me today if I’m going to win. And the pride with which she still wears her Thanksgiving Day 50-yard-dash medal to school–four months later. I’ll think about my six-year-old’s first run with me a few weeks ago, and the pride that was in her big brown eyes afterward, when I bought her her first pair of shoes. They don’t know yet how far 26.2 miles is, and frankly to them it doesn’t matter if I run down the street and back. I am their mommy and they think I AM AWESOME. So, at mile 26, I’m gonna fake it for them and BE AWESOME.

The last 385 yards: “Enjoy It”

Cris gave me awesome advice the other night, that had been handed down to her… She said, you only cross the finish line of your first marathon once. Slow down. Enjoy it. So here, instead of a sprint… instead of picking people off, I will slow down. I will throw some high fives. I will smile. And I will finish!

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What you'll find here: Endurance. Strength. Beauty. Humor. Trials. Joy. Will. Triumph. Defeat. Life. The things all of us can find in running, and in life.